Family Bonds
by VampireHunterDragoon
Summary: A letter from Bruce sent to Alfred, Dick, Tim, and Barbara. Its a fate no one wants to consider, but Bruce Wayne will, and he'll help slay the Bat if he has to.


**Disclaimer:** DC Comics owns the Batman franchise, and all the comics, movies, shows, characters, and variables therein.

FAMILY BONDS

Dear Alfred, Dick, Tim and Barbara,

I have never thought that writing an introduction to a schematic could be so difficult. At this moment, I am far more uncertain and less self-assured than I have ever been in my life. I have always acted certain, and I have always thought that way. I couldn't afford not to: I needed something definite to hold onto while battling figures of evil and insanity for so many years. My fear has been that, should I begin to doubt myself, I would become lost in the abyss I so often occupy.

I am one of the world's most dangerous men. Clark may be able to fly, Kyle may have his ring, and Wally may be able to race around the world in minutes, but no one has my mind. This must sound arrogant, but at this point I do not care. I know that I possess the greatest intelligence out of anybody in the JLA, and one of the most dominant intellects on the face of the planet. That is why I become so scared when I consider the consequences of what could happen should my genius be used improperly. Remember the War Games disaster? Or how about when Ra's Al Ghul nearly conquered the world with my files? Imagine what else my mind is capable of, and consider the insecure state it's in.

You all know me. You know that I act as a perfectionist, how I tie up every loose end, and how I set up numerous safeguards and backup plans. This letter is another means of strengthening our defense. I trust nearly no one; living a life where enemies become friends and friends become enemies tends to do that. You four are the only ones I absolutely trust. I do not need to imagine how I could stop you should you turn rogue because I know you will not. I have been suspicious of nearly everybody while as Batman, whether it be Diana, Ollie, J'onn, or anybody else. But never you. Not for a second. I know that you will never switch sides, and become the monsters that harm this world instead of protecting it.

Dick…Alfred…Barbara…Tim…

You must be ready for the chance that I may someday turn rogue.

I'm losing control of myself. I do not know what the cause of this is; I've experienced the worst life has to offer, and have come out strong. But now, things have changed. I no longer suppress my emotions as well as I once did. I act on impulse more than ever. And unfortunately, these changes have not occurred without consequences.

Two months ago, I was on patrol on Gotham's East Side. It had been, until two AM, a relatively uneventful night. I intercepted a message over the link from the GCPD's radios. Apparently, a domestic disturbance was in progress. When Batman appears, he usually does so to accomplish something like preventing a robbery or apprehending a ring of gang bangers. I must sound like a heartless prick for seeing this, but I usually consider incidents like domestic disturbances to be less significant matters best handled by the few noble cops around. However, on this occasion I had no excuse.

The apartment mentioned was closer to my location than it was to any of the cops. They were also low on man power that evening which gave me more than enough time to appear at the destination, complete my objective, and then make my leave.

It took me four minutes to arrive at the apartment complex. This particular complex had the moniker of the "Devil's Den". It was a verifiable shithole, crumbling and decaying, the home to many small time crooks. Sadly, many low-income innocents also resided there.

I found the window to apartment 1138, and leapt in. All was going according to plan.

And then I saw the man and the woman.

The woman was on the floor, her hands clutching her entire face. She was breathing harshly and rapidly, sobbing in-between. My stomach churned as I realized that steam was arising from her head.

I looked at her male counterpart next, and this was where my rage began to overcome me. He was a pathetic looking creature, clad in a dirty wife beater, stained boxers, and a beer belly that bulged under his shirt. His face was cursed with unkempt facial hair, and he reeked of booze and tobacco. He held, in his right hand, an empty pan, steam also rising from it.

It was precisely when he saw me that I became so irate. He gaped at me the same way criminal scum usually do: his eyes went wide, his mouth opened, and his entire body trembled. This act of fright had been performed for so long that I had come to both expect and welcome it for years. It was, after all, partly what made Batman the creature who haunted the thoughts of the guilty.

This night, however, it served only to enrage me. Who did this audacious bastard think he was?! Who was he to act monstrous, to terrorize someone weaker than himself, and then to assume the expression of a man wrongly intimidated?! Who was he to do this?!

I could not stomach these injustices, so I raced over to him, slapped the pan away from him, and grabbed him by the throat with both hands. The apartment was dimly lit, and that worked to my advantage. He was literally white as a ghost while I choked him, and I could understand why. How else would a cowardly man react, with a glowering shadow of a demon upon him? He lost control of his bladder and began to urinate. The smell was salty and bitter, and it only deepened my intense hatred for him.

I want to say that I had no control over myself, but that would be a boldfaced lie. The truth is, I knew exactly what I was doing that evening. I was aware of the lines I was crossing, but I crossed them away. When I said that I was losing control earlier, I meant that I was becoming unable to restrain my emotions as sufficiently as I was once able to. My fury consumed me on that particular night, and it compelled me to do what I did, but I ultimately made the final decision.

I cracked his neck, not enough to kill him, but enough to permanently paralyze him, and for him to feel it at the same time. He dropped to the floor, yet I was not finished, not by a long shot. I placed my foot on both of his knees, and then used my hands to twist them forward in unnatural positions. He was screeching in a mad frenzy, but I knew that none of his neighbors would come to investigate.

Even with his hysteria, I could hear the swift boot steps made by at least two officers. I quickly fled out the window, sailing away on my grappling hook. I was not too far away not to hear the gasps of horror.

I had effectively ruined that man's life. From now on, he would probably live out the rest of his life in a shitty, third-rate hospital, always in bed, drinking his meals through a straw, and addicted to painkillers. That should've been the end of the story. Hero meets monster, hero defeats monster, monster receives what he deserves. I wanted to feel relief, closure, satisfaction for what I had done. Instead, the rage remained with me, weakened somewhat by my ordeal, but still very much alive. It was boiling, and it clutched my heart painfully as I dove through the sky of my city. It was so potent that I could nearly smell, taste, and touch it.

I went to bed in this condition, but it was agony. I did nothing for awhile but lie in the dark, feeling my anger crawl all over and into me. It was the sensation of drowning in the worst, most depraved part of myself, but being kept alive all the while. Before I eventually succumbed to my exhaustion, I made a horrifying discovery: the Bat was destroying Bruce Wayne.

A week or two passed, and I was still going about my daily routine with no new discrepancies. The thoughts of that terrible night lingered with me, but I kept it mostly at bay with my missions and research.

But then…that night happened.

I was performing my regular patrol before it had occurred. It was a night like any other in Gotham: cold, lonely, and covered by the beautiful moonlight. Things had gone normally since the twilight, with a few arrests here, and a few threats there. It was approaching midnight when I wandered near Robinson Boulevard.

At about twelve AM, I heard a series of gunshots ring out, the sound akin to a wave of thunder crackling through the still and quiet night. I thought I was prepared to tackle whatever the crime was. Believing it was most likely some sort of gangland attack, I dropped upon the scene. I was ready to follow the usual steps.

I was not ready. God, I wasn't ready.

There, under a streetlight, kneeled a small boy, probably six or seven. Lying to the left and right of the child were two adults, one male, and one female. They looked very similar to the child; it was obvious that they were his parents. It was also apparent that they were both dead. Blood oozed from under their corpses, and encircled their son.

The boy had his face in his hands, weeping, and my heart broke.

Standing in front of the child was the perpetrator, a man holding a pistol, smoke still exuviating from the nozzle. He looked like any other minor criminal: ratty clothes, sloppy hygiene, and an overall pitiful appearance.

The details of the scene were too much: the grim alley, the deceased guardians, the selfish monster, and the broken boy.

The soul of another child had died. From it, another demon would be born.

I could not accept that.

This time, I literally possessed no ownership over my actions. My mind became blank, and I thought of nothing while carrying out my deeds, allowing my emotion to guide me. However, I could watch, and I did so earnestly. I watched as I committed the very same sin that I swore to refrain from forever.

I lunged at the murderer, and beat him senseless with unrestrained punches and kicks. He begged for mercy, but I did not yield. And with every hit I did not become wearier, but angrier. He may have been experiencing tremendous pain, but it was not enough. He needed to live through everything I had, and everything the boy would. If he was not willing to endure all the angst, trauma, bitterness, and loneliness, then I would force him to.

I tossed him towards a wall, and pulled out a batarang. I then stabbed him repeatedly in his stomach. I ignored his screams and his airborne blood, focusing only on my work. My stabbing was wild and erratic, and this time I could feel the energy drain from my being.

Some time passed before I became too weary to continue. The killer was still alive, but suffering excruciatingly. I imagined that every breath he took released a wave of fire into his internal system, and every swallow he took dropped a ball of barbed wire into his stomach.

Still, it wasn't enough.

I grabbed his head, and forced him to stare at me, to gaze upon the face of his horrific demise. He tried to scream, yet he could not. He was far too scared. As he looked at the furious devil, I knew that I had made his last moments the worst of his life.

He died. He died in the act. It was nothing sensational. He just stopped, his eyes rolled upwards, and he was gone.

I stood up, and turned to check on the child.

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

He was innocence.

I was the damned.

He was no longer crying. He was just staring, staring at the thing before him. He was me, the frightened boy I was, and he looked upon what I had become.

I have never seen anyone more afraid.

I broke him. His mind, heart, soul, life…I ruined it all.

I have never been more ashamed of myself.

I left him in his Hell, but I could not escape my own. I never have, and I do not think I ever will.

As I write this, my tears fall, but I do not grieve. I have not completely lost myself. I have enough of myself left to write this.

Please understand that my possible turn of allegiance is not inevitable. But it may happen, and I cannot endure the thought of how it will affect you all. You four have been the only ones who keep me going, who have inspired me to live when all I really wanted was to die.

I love you all so much.

Dick and Tim, my sons.

Barbara, my daughter.

Alfred, my father.

I have already spoken with Zatana, and have asked her to erase my memories of all these incidents. In return, I have told her all that this letter contains. After my purging, she and you will be the only five people who know about this.

The proceeding plan requires all four of you. It is recommended that you enlist all the help you can obtain, but it is not necessary. You know me best. That will be your greatest advantage.

I pray that it will never come to this, but I cannot chance it.

Forgive me, and please remember me for what I really am: a wayward soul who will everything to protect you.

I love you all,

Bruce

**Author's Notes:** Batman is, without a doubt, the greatest superhero ever, and one of the things I love so much about the character is the variety of ways in which he can be interpreted. Some see him in black and white, as a courageous hero battling the forces of evil. Others, like myself, see him as a much more complex person. In Family Bonds, I decided that I wanted to portray Bruce Wayne as a man who once possessed control of the demon inside himself (the Batman), but is starting to lose control. I had the Blind Justice and Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth stories in mind while constructing this version of Bruce Wayne and Batman, but I have also tried to emphasize that Bruce still has some humanity, and its his love for his family that will cause him to warn them.

Finally, all though I've listed Family Bonds in the categories of "Angst" and "Tragedy", I do not intend for this story to be interpreted as completely lacking all hope and optimism. While the story may arguably be depressing, there is still love in there, and not just the love from Bruce. His family loves him too, and I know that they would do all they can to rescue Bruce from the Bat Demon. But as to whether or not they would succeed... that's up for you to decide.


End file.
